


And his tune is heard on the distant hill

by Azuumi, UMsArchive



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Figuring Things Out, M/M, Minor Character Death, Yuri and Otabek going through life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 18:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10950546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azuumi/pseuds/Azuumi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UMsArchive/pseuds/UMsArchive
Summary: Less than a year ago, when he’d started losing, he had no idea that losing is a progression, and once you’ve started it only ends when you have nothing left.OR At the end of his career, Yuri remembers what he's had, what he's lost, and what he should hold on to.





	And his tune is heard on the distant hill

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST AND FOREMOST, immense thanks to otayuriistheliteralbest@tumblr for taking the time to go through and beta this stuffy thing AND to azuumi for contributing the art and the very concept behind this fic.
> 
> A/N: The routines used for reference were Yuzuru Hanyu’s ‘Seimei’ performance in Boston for the opening one and his exhibition in Boston, ‘Requiem for heaven and earth’ for the performance at the end. The exhibition is worth watching when you get to that part of the story for a wholesome experience.
> 
> The swan song is a metaphorical phrase for a final gesture, effort, or performance given just before death or retirement. The phrase refers to an ancient belief that swans sing a beautiful song in the moment just before death, having been silent (or alternatively, not so musical) during most of their lifetime. This belief, whose basis in actuality is long-debated, had become proverbial in ancient Greece by the 3rd century BC, and was reiterated many times in later Western poetry and art.

 

 

He’s aware he’s being talked to, probably words that are trying to be reassuring, by the soft tone he can distinguish in the already muffled version of its sound that his brain processes. His head feels light and heavy, his legs are filled with lead.

 

“Yurio.” A hand touches his shoulder.

 

He feels his head spinning and his vision is a clumsy overlap of the original. His head darts up and distinguishes the red beeping numbers counting down, already halfway from 30. He sniffs once, gripping the border tightly, then pushes himself backwards across the ice before he has the chance of another glimpse of his coach and choreographer’s worried, shifty eyes. They don’t know he’s also hurt beyond the emotional pain, and he grimaces at the numbing pain in his left foot. He’d tied the skate tightly enough to mostly numb the foot itself. He’ll make it through. He has to. He glides a bit, flexing his arm, ignoring the evident low pang. Gritting teeth and holding breath - he ought to.

 

He takes his starting pose, challenging and hardened, waiting. The strident first note hits high in the quietening arena. Swirl, launch forward, arms up, turn, get through the steps, prepare for the first jump, ignore the throbbing - a quad Salchow, always an easy feat for him. He takes off perfectly, puts in the rotations perfectly.

 

_A singer lost for words_

_is clearly up against it._

  


He expects the pain, but somehow it still surprises him - or at least his body - the sudden bolt fired upwards, when his weight and the force of the launch stomp onto his pained foot, and before he can think better of it, his instincts push a hand to touch down desperately, though momentarily, with the irrational fear that the foot might bend or crumble beneath him, that he needs to grasp onto something for support. He curses, because of course it wouldn’t go that far - and he hasn’t missed a Salchow since Juniors… until now. He sighs inwardly, but keeps going, getting more steadily through the following Toeloop, Lutz and Flip quads. The combination spin. The step sequences. He believes he’s gotten used to the pain already. The throbs are there, but they are rhythmic - in timing, in intensity. They are part of the music, part of the dance. Luckily, his upper side is still expressive, still distracting. He steps and glides and motions - his moves are like a passionate chant. The music’s rhythm slows down slightly, the throbbing stays the same. Next there’s a combination quad. First, his very own quad Ax-

 

_A staircase that’s collapsing_

_can only be descended._

 

It might’ve been the third or the fourth rotation when the system of the throbbing fails him as he knows it. It’s one and sudden and sharp and ten times the previous intensity. His vision goes white momentarily, robbing him of the second he could’ve used to ameliorate the impact anyhow and he plunges painfully across the ice. His breath hitches with the bruising and the coldness, but there’s no time to catch it when it’s necessary to catch up with the music instead. Failed quad, no combination.

 

He goes on in a daze, breath lost, triples staggered - the routine is mechanical, embedded into his bones. There’s a double instead of a triple in there somewhere, but that’s the least of his worries. The last combination spin is terribly rotated, he knows it. He feels sluggish and he undoubtedly looks sluggish, no wonder he hears the ending note before his ending pose catches up. Finally, he leans forward, catching his breath a little, catching his knees, grasping tightly, knowing that approaching the Kiss and Cry is approaching a sentence - far from what he hoped for when the season began.

 

He makes it there in a way he hoped looks dignified. They try to talk to him, but he cuts in before anything else with, “I don’t think I can do the exhibition,” and he thinks he mirrors the other two’s worry at how gruff that came out. He didn’t realize how badly he lacked for air until he took in a painful amount of it, feeling overwhelmed. He unties the skate, only to retie it tighter. The pain is continuous now, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done. It might be altogether done. It’s a bit too late for his swan song.

 

_He cannot compensate_

_For lyrics he’s forgotten_

_And notes he cannot make._

 

_***_

  


It's quiet, the sound of crunching snow beneath his steps oddly unfamiliar and unconnected to his memories of this place. He jumps over the front fence, which is a bit slippery with ice, landing carefully on his good foot, and prays no neighbours will see him. He would only need to show his face as to avoid being labeled as a common trespasser - he's spent many past summer months here and people know him - but having his presence known or talked of is the last thing he wants.

 

The family would be in the city - they always spend the winters in Almaty. So the doors and windows would be shut and there's no one to welcome him. Not that he's sure he'd be welcome these days. He did skip last summer's visit. Reasons - complicated.

 

He passes the house, walking alongside and turning back to the pond. It's even quieter here. He can hear the water beneath, which does surprise him - he thought it would be frozen. He sits down by the edge, legs crossed underneath him, the frailer one in an odd angle to avoid crushing it. The platform is not tall enough above the water and the water itself too cold for him to allow his legs to dangle over the edge - although that had been a convenient setting in the past.

 

This place isn't made for winter visits.

 

He takes out his phone a bit clumsily due to a growing chilling stiffness in his hands and finally turns it on, the first time since he's left home, about 10 hours ago. There are a lot of messages and missed calls that he doesn't want to have to deal with,  but he scrolls through them still, hoping to find anything at all from a certain someone who has yet to reach him still, however. Well, it was he who had wanted to keep the news within a small circle and he who didn't include Otabek in that circle, so what does he expect?

 

He guesses there is this part of him that knows the media will soon take hold of the story. And there is this other part of him that hopes Otabek will still be checking on news about Yuri and reach out to him himself when he knows because, alright, he is indeed too proud to be the one to confess he needs Otabek in a moment like this. That he wishes to be far away from everyone, with no one but Otabek by his side.

 

Maybe this is why he chooses to be by himself in this place, travelling for hours, by plane, a few buses and even some on foot to get here. This is the most Otabek-linked place he could fathom. Logically, showing up at Otabek 's place would be the most effective way of dealing with a lack of Otabek, but Yuri is no beggar. He is proud enough to not risk showing up at his door and see him feel pity for Yuri's current state and nothing else. What if someone else opens the door for him, curiously asking him and then Otabek who Yuri is? What if he hears him whispering apologetically 'hope you don't mind letting him in, babe, although I like the thought of this as much as you do'?

 

He rubs his numbing hands together, breathes steaming air into his palms and if tears trickle down his cheeks he doesn't feel them, only his eyes are now burning hot, unlike any other part of his body. Nikolai would be sad and disappointed to see Yuri fretting and petty and lost, but Nikolai isn't here to know. He is nowhere in particular, as of late. As of a few days ago, the news coming to him in the unluckiest of moments, but that is the least of his regrets.

 

Less than a year ago, when he’d started losing, he had no idea that losing is a progression, and once you’ve started it only ends when you have nothing left.

 

Yuri's passed the sadness stage of swallowing that pill, though. Now it's just... anger. He's not quite sure who or what he's angry at. But anger has always seemed to work best for Yuri. It is the one emotion he can handle. But he‘s afraid he’ll soon calm down, not for settling but for exhaustion. Feeling pain is nowhere near as terrifying as feeling nothing. Luckily, he can find pain here, where he is. When the happiness is gone, happy places will cause pain, too. The pond has been a very happy place for him.

  


***

 

His first visit happens the summer after his senior debut. Otabek is his first friend, so he’s not entirely sure how this should go, if he’s doing it right. He may be clingy. But friends are supposed to spend time together, aren’t they? They’re supposed to keep in touch, even more when they’re countries apart, right? Yuri definitely wants to spend as much time as possible with Otabek. And he’s very shamelessly seeking him out, following all of his social media accounts and not failing to get his phone number before he’s off to Kazakhstan. Otabek doesn’t disappoint in being seekable. He is smart and cool and resourceful and he’s got a lot of entertaining hobbies and friends and many stories to tell about them.

 

Otabek is either indulging him or is as eager about this friendship as Yuri is. Despite being much less interesting himself, he seems to be listening to Yuri’s own stories with much interest, too. He calls him up, too, the days Yuri doesn’t. He takes interest in Yuri’s life and family and friends and plans. And when Yuri gathers the courage to ask him if he wants to visit him in Russia, he buys a ticket for the following week.

 

They spend that week with Otabek leading the way around Yuri’s own town better than he could. He knows places for good food and good music and a few nights he has DJing jobs at some clubs around town and since Yuri proved before that he would follow him anyway, Otabek lets him accompany him to begin with, with the solemn promise that he won’t try to trick bartenders into selling him alcohol. Although it would’ve been tempting to attain the complete clubbing experience, Yuri relents, and they even spend some time dancing together, when Otabek’s done for the night. They don’t really dance _together_ , per se. Not in the way he sees actual couples dance around them, twisted and entangled and grinding in sync. But it’s not awkward. It’s fun. They have their own dynamic, their own pace. It feels even better like this, as if they’re not like the others, not fading into the rest of the crowd. As if it’s special.

 

Most days, they are out in town. The nights when Otabek doesn’t have work, they stay indoors. Otabek knows how to cook, too. Of course he can do that as well. They’re European or American dishes, which has Yuri thinking it was by adapting to live on his own far away from home.

 

Yuri only knows how to make pirozhki. He fries some one of those nights, not making them the Katsudon specialty, however. He wants Otabek to try the veritable pork cutlet bowl first someday when they could be in Japan together at the same time, hoping all this would last enough for that. Maybe at a competition or something. Visiting his home is one thing, but he’s not sure when friends reach the point of being alright to consider going on international trips together. For one, he is aware not all friendships necessarily hit such a stage. He’s aware some friendships end, too, although he’s never had one to end before, so he’s not entirely sure how that stage comes around either, but he guesses that one would be more obvious.

 

It’s the day Otabek starts talking about going home that they meet Victor and Yuuri by chance, as they’re having a late breakfast and the couple seems to be heading back home from grocery shopping. An eager invitation to Hasetsu ensues. Otabek gets somehow included at some point. Victor will be there to look over their pre-preparation off-season training, so it’s alright. He doesn’t have the longest coaching experience, but Katsudon does seem to have all limbs intact after all that time under him, which is promising. They’re supposed to stay in shape, refine their existing quads, at this point - nothing troublesome. It is settled.

 

They end up at the inn a few evenings later, eventually, wearing flimsy clothes and eating Mrs. Katsuki’s godly food. Otabek is lying cross legged on the floor behind a low table, encouraged to taste the rice mix, wearing a T-shirt Yuri bought him and he doesn’t question anything and seems to enjoy himself, so Yuri is happy. Really strangely happy and giddy.

 

They share Yuri’s room and bed since Otabek’s presence wasn’t initially expected, although the Katsukis kindly assure any other commodities for him. Yuri’s only ever shared a bed with his cat and he’d thought it might irritate him, but it doesn’t. Otabek emanates a comforting heat even if he’s not quite right beside him and Yuri learns to get accustomed to that addition, even to missing it.

 

But after a couple trips, shopping and adjustments, the time in Hasetsu slowly settles into a routine that is most enjoyable for the older, but not as much for the younger. Yuri is starting to worry Otabek is getting bored.

 

“Let’s leave this Tuesday,” he tells Yuri one evening.

 

Initially, it hits him like a pang, entangled to his previous doubts, but then, “Us both?”

 

“You seem just as restless and since we’re supposed to start seriously training by the end of the month, I thought I could get you to visit Kazakhstan for a bit, too.”

 

The place Otabek takes him to is a house in the countryside with a quiet and peaceful neighbourhood and, in the beginning, Yuri wonders how Otabek could think of this as a beneficial change - moving on to a place even more stagnant than Hasetsu. He meets Otabek’s family, made up of his parents, a grandmother, a sister one year younger than Otabek and one only ten years old. His mother appears like a very elegant, professional woman, who’s used to taking things slowly and cautiously, who studies Yuri silently over a cup of tea after dinner, asking him long winded questions and making short remarks. His father looks stern and brisk and his bold, solid looks remind him a lot of Otabek, and he sure hopes there will be an equal paradox in manners. The grandmother is soft-mannered and -spoken, at least. The older sister, Karina, is smart and funny and she and Otabek are in a constant banter. Maya is chatty herself and she claims to be Otabek’s biggest fan in this world and beyond.

 

The next day, it turns out Otabek’s mother is as fearless on a hike as he’d presumed she’d be efficient in an office. His premonitions about the father come true, him turning out as equally snarky and nice. There’s equipment for climbing left behind by a 13 year old cousin for Yuri to use and after getting over the annoyance of fitting into a 13 year old’s stuff, he has a lot of fun. Otabek’s grandmother awaits them in the evening with warm food. Her pilafs are mouth-watering; he shrugs it off when he hears how much of the food he’s been eating contains horse meat.

 

The weather is great for swimming and Otabek’s sisters are fun company, too. The lake area in the back of the house is just a small patch opening into a wide stretch of water they sail on, fenced by peaks and woods.

 

They go on visits, too, meeting a lot of people, and everyone greets them with incredible amounts of food that Yuri can’t resist. Otabek takes Yuri on his motorcycle to the canyon area a couple dozen kilometres away - the rest of the family plans to get there later in the trip, but the two have decided to head to Almaty a few days early. There, the company multiplies with other friends of Otabek’s and the fun does, too.

 

Following a bet with a couple of Otabek’s friends, Yuri ends up presented with the cooked head of a lamb and is cheered on as he digs into pieces of brain and he finds that he enjoys the creamy taste - they keep in touch on social media.

 

Yuri follows Otabek like a magnet follows steel and he doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t see it as something worrisome to attend to. He’s excited and indulging and he’s given no reason to be cautious. Between the two of them, Yuri likes talking the most. It’s nice to be listened to, whatever he is blabbering about. Across the following years, with soft spoken, heavily sleepy voices, they share with each other all the memories the other has missed on, all the fears and dreams the other couldn’t guess.

 

At 17, Yuri’s driving himself into the ground by trying to drive himself high above it. His body fights against him and Yuri counterattacks. He’s got no time to lose, no chance to slack off. He skips visiting Hasetsu that year, a few days in Kazakhstan being all that he allows himself outside of practice and therapy and dieting.

 

Otabek’s grandma comments constantly on how lanky he is getting lately, and personally piles more pieces of meat onto his plate. Otabek winks from across the table and Karina stifles a laugh.

 

At 18, Yuri wins his first European, but it somehow feels like an empty win, with Victor, Georgi and Giacometti gone. Katsudon steals both GP and Worlds golds from him, but he’s not so mad, given that they’re the products of the Japanese man’s last year.

 

That summer, he’s lying on his back on a patch by the lake’s side on a sunny day, arms crossed at the back of his head, sunglasses on, reluctantly admitting all of that kind of sucks. When the sun’s set and he has had a couple weak drinks, he gets just mellow enough to go as far as to say he might even miss them.

 

Otabek laughs at him. Yuri reaches one hand out to hit him playfully, but Otabek catches it before he manages to. He doesn’t let go of it after and neither of them comment on it.

 

When a couple days later, he’s past the first check point to get through to security and he finally has to turn his back on Otabek, there’s a loud, gripping pang in his chest. He stops in his tracks and tells a young woman who is very irritated to hear the news after she has just beeped him in that he has to get back out for a bit. He sees Otabek still there, watching the exchange and looking very confused. Perhaps even more so when Yuri eventually pushes through and grips the lapels of his jacket, pulling him forward and into a kiss.

 

He eventually passes again through the check point, the young woman still very irritated by the inconvenience and very unmoved by the previous scene. Yuri’s heart is a bit more reconciled, but still a bit more restless than before as he flashes a smirk back at Otabek through the separating window, walking backwards.

 

The summer they’re 20 and 23, Otabek’s parents have brought a couple new trees to plant in the backyard. Yuri is dutifully helping and Otabek’s mother talks about the fruit he’s going to eat from his work in a few years. Yuri is taken a bit aback there, for a moment, but not in a bad way. It’s strange, but warmly strange, to be thought of as a definite presence of the house still, in a few years’ time.

 

 

Yuri and Otabek slack off most afternoons, legs submerged knee deep in the water, holding hands, leaning against each other, kissing, splashing water, laughing. It’s all too good.

 

Yuri’s on a winning streak and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to lose anything any time soon.

 

At the end of the following season, Yuri vows never to see or talk to Yakov again.

 

“He did talk all about it with Victor and Yuuri ahead of time. He still thought of what was best for you,” Otabek tries to argument.

 

“He should’ve talked to _me_! He didn’t exactly decide to retire yesterday, did he? He had all the time in the world to have a fucking mature conversation!”

 

Otabek remains quiet.  

 

Yuri should’ve guessed where it was going when Otabek started talking less and less about skating and more and more about music.

 

At 24, Otabek is retiring from skating.

 

At 25, he’s a music producer and he’s travelling more than Yuri does, to many places Yuri hasn’t been to and where they mean to go together when they’ll find the time - not just yet though.

 

On one evening by the pond, Otabek pulls out a pair of rings. Yuri tears up and he hits Otabek for making him cry and for currently laughing at him for being mad about it. “If I put this on, it doesn’t mean I can’t take it off, too! Stop fucking laughing! I’m throwing it in the lake, I swear to-!”

 

A few months later, they’re celebrating a great contract he’s landed and buying a house together. They don’t have a plan to marry as of yet - there’s time.

 

At 26, Otabek’s talking more and more about people Yuri doesn’t know. And Yuri keeps talking about people they both always knew.

 

And Otabek doesn’t leave him out. Not really. But Yuri does feel left out still. Otabek is out there doing things Yuri doesn’t really understand, not really, though Otabek explains it all patiently. And there is just this one thing Yuri knows and has ever known. Otabek is out there moving on with his life and Yuri doesn’t know about anything else out there. And he is scared. He is insecure and lost. He couldn’t be like Otabek. He couldn’t have a change of heart if he wanted. Because he doesn’t have an option. Not that he wants one, but he’s aware in this place that it’s not always about wanting.

 

Otabek seems tired but he seems satisfied also, so Yuri hardly has mercy in his frustration. He feels like time flies by them. The times spent with his fiancé are still his happiest, but they are scarce. Yuri feels starved. He feels the time on his skin, in his strained muscles. Soft features like his look good with the softness of youth. In the meantime, Otabek’s hardened and chiseled features settle better and handsomer with the setting of maturity. It seems like yet another metaphor on how Otabek seems to be heading where he’s supposed to, and Yuri maybe isn’t.

 

He feels unsure. Sometimes, when he’s over at his grandfather’s or the Katsuki-Nikiforovs’ he feels like opening up - but he doesn’t.

 

Frustration is what fuels their first real fight - not the usual banter or dumb misunderstandings - a fully fledged fight. Yuri isn’t sure how it starts, but it ends with Otabek storming out and leaving his things behind. He comes back in a couple of days and their initial interactions are raw and tense and awkward for the rest of the day.

 

When they go to bed, Yuri says “Goodnight,” then pauses. He wants to say “I love you”, too, as an assurance, as an apology, as a reminder. He doesn’t.

 

(The worst of times isn’t when it ends. It’s having visions of the way it will end.)

 

On their second real fight, Otabek packs his things before he leaves altogether. He doesn’t come back. He does call a while later and he’s casual, asking him how he’s doing. It almost seems alright between them, throughout the call, but there’s no mention of coming back. It’s the end of Yuri’s 11th senior season - he’s 25. They don’t have their trip as usual, that summer.

 

To Yuri, it feels a lot like things have been going in reverse, seeing each other less and less, then almost not at all. Talking less and less and then barely at all. Otabek doesn’t really cut him off entirely, however - doesn’t seem to really give up on him. He guesses he still gives a fuck about Yuri, in some measure. The amount is unclear - he’s afraid to ask for any hint at a clarification; the truth might destroy him.

 

No arrangement about property and a proper separation reach him either - yet.

  


***

Yuri is nearing 26 and he’s clueless - he’s never figured out what would come after skating.

He has decided and announced his retirement by the beginning of this season, that yes. But he has been supposed to spend all of the time he could get with Nikolai after. He has wanted to finally talk with Nikolai about Otabek and life. He has wanted to tell him why Otabek hasn’t visited in so long, to be soothed by him, to get his wise advice.

 

Now, after what just happened at the GPF, after his grandfather’s funeral, his plans are null.

 

He takes his phone out once again, even more difficult now when not even rubbing his hands together does the trick and the air all down to his lungs feel just as icy. He dips it back in - he wouldn't have gone all the way all the same, he knows it. He feels a sweet dizziness setting into his body, so comfortable, so inviting, a clear sign of advanced stage hypothermia, a still awake part of his rational side cautions. He sits up slowly, staggering, almost getting himself knocked over into the water by stumbling and jumping on one foot, avoiding the use of the second one still.

 

He starts walking towards the house, slowly and then faster, as his body readjusts to the motion. The movement fusions just enough energy and heat into him to the point where he does realize just how cold it is. He is a Russian man, for fuck’s sake, his teeth shouldn't be clattering like that in the face of winter! It’s not snowing. It’s a dry chillness, with a cutting wind and cracked earth where it shows through the settled snow.

 

He walks to the front door and searches for the emergency key he knows where to find. Inside, it’s as cold as he expected, but he knows there are plenty of blankets and where they are normally deposited. He settles in on their usual bed with plenty of blankets gathered from all around the house - in Otabek’s childhood room, but with a newer bed to accommodate both of them. He takes out a plastic bottle and takes a couple gulps. It’s a water bottle he emptied and filled with vodka. It’s a safer choice, if any photographers caught him with that by his side. He continues sipping absently - it warms him up considerably, but makes him feel heavy and sluggish, too, combined with the exhaustion. He’s been forced to sleep a couple hours here and there, the last days, but definitely not enough.

 

He puts the almost empty bottle aside, takes out his phone again. He’s almost out of battery life and he didn’t bring a charger. He guesses it’s now or never, his finger hovering above his name, before pressing - hard.

 

A tone.

 

Two tones.

 

Three.

 

_His voice._

 

“Hey… I can’t believe you actually answered. H-How have you been?I- Oh, it’s voicemail. Ok. Well, I just wanted to-” He gulps, takes a deep breath. “I never wanted things to end. I regret it all.  I really do, I swear.  Please, please– let’s fix this, _please_.”

 

His phone shuts done with a characteristic sound right before he breaks down.

 

***

“ _Yuri!_ ”

Hands hover like ghosts, feeling his cheeks, seeping heat into his skin - might be that the hands are very warm or his face is just still very cold.

His torso is lifted effortlessly, dragged closer. His cheek meets what he believes to be a shoulder. He sniffs, testing the air, digging his face deeper, into the comforting skin, nuzzling his neck. He feels the scent of a familiar cologne.

“Hey,” Yuri breathes out groggily.

“That isn’t water in that bottle, is it?” Otabek sighs. He sounds somewhat exasperated, but not in an angry way, so Yuri just smiles weakly.

“I heard you were doing good,” he answers instead.

 

“So and so.” He pauses.  “My parents asked about you.”

 

“Grandpa asked a lot about you, too,” Yuri mumbles softly.

 

“I’m sorry about Nikolai, Yuri.”

 

“Yeah,” it’s all Yuri says softly. Otabek understands. “I’m sorry about all I’ve said. I thought it was over, when you left and it was all my fault.”

 

“I left so it wouldn’t be over. We’ve been through everything else together. This is no different,” he whispers, cupping his face, placing a kiss on his forehead.

 

“Thanks.” Yuri nods slowly, falling back asleep.

 

***

“I brought your medicine. Victor told me you should take-”

“You’ve seen Victor and Yuuri?”

“I called them, since you didn’t answer back. Asked them if you were alright.”

Yuri looks over at his phone questionably, remembers it’s been turned off for a while - Yuuri and Victor must’ve filled in all the blanks, with the first occasion. “How did you know where to find me?”

“You weren’t in any other place you could’ve gone to. It was either here or out in the big wide world.”

Yuri scoffs weakly, “The big wide world sounds good.” Then, in a more serious tone, adds, “I’m done for.”

“You’re not-”

“I’ve been meaning to be done for. Well, not until the end of the season, but-” He inhales deeply, “I’m tired.”

“I am tired, too,” Otabek sighs and he can tell that for him, too, it isn’t only physical.

Otabek manages to set the house’s heating going. It turns out he’s brought groceries, more clothes for both of them, too, and many other necessities. He seems to have been quite prepared for this.

Yuri laughs as he watched him chopping carrots, sleeves rolled up, while he himself is still keeping a blanket around himself, despite the recent and welcomed heat. “You weren’t quite sure I’ve gone into the big wide world instead, were you?”

“No, not yet. Though you look like you need it.”

Hours later, he snuggles in as close as he can while still allowing them to breathe.

“Goodnight,” Yuri whispers into Otabek’s hair. “I love you,” he adds this time and he doesn’t understand why it could’ve ever been something hard to do.

***

The next morning they’re up early, eating porridge no one else can make to Yuri’s liking, not even himself.

“I really gotta call Yuuri and Victor, right?”

“I sent them a message already. They’ll be fine,” Otabek replies. “What do you want to do?” he asks then and Yuri pauses in eating, putting his spoon down. The question is double edged. What does he want to do now? What will he do after?

“I want to get out of _all that_ on my own two feet and own two skates, for one. I guess I should work on getting my foot fixed quickly for that.”

“But for now-?” Otabek reads his mind.

Yuri smiles - he’s the only one so good as this. “You came in a car?” he asks, eyes glinting.

“Yeah.”

“Everything’s really shitty right now. So how about you get in this car with me and we drive to wherever for however long?”

“Let’s see the Charyn Canyon, maybe,” Otabek suggests.

Yuri continues eating, feeling lighter.

***

_“The gold medalist, Russia’s Yuri Plisetsky, who announced his retirement at the beginning of the season. He’s declared he will not be participating in the World Team Trophy either.”_

_“It’s his 7th time winning the World title and his last, it seems, though it’s probably a great way to go. Can you believe it, still, Mark? That Plisetsky is retired for real?”_

_“It seems so, Sally. And the skating world will miss him, especially the Russians. There has been none so skilled, so appraised before him, aside from probably his former rinkmate and later choreographer Victor Nikiforov, but there are many areas in which he’s surpassed Nikiforov - in number of titles, he surely did.”_

_“He’s definitely surpassed Nikiforov, though comparisons are not so easy to make between them - they’ve been in many ways different as skaters, too.” _

_“He’s not confirmed his participation in any ice shows, either, and he’s refused to comment on future plans before the beginning of the new skating season. Could this really be the last time we’ll get to see Yuri Plisetsky on the ice?”_

_“He’s skating to Requiem of Heaven and Earth, a new exhibition programme choreographed by himself and Victor Nikiforov - not the kind of piece we’ve seen Plisetsky willfully skating to, especially in an exhibition.” _

_“Not only extremely artistic, but also a deeply emotional piece. He’s conveying something special out there, raw in a sense like he’s never performed before.”_

_“This has been quite a year for him, professionally and emotionally, starting with the injury later reported to have been dealing with in the Grand Prix Final long programme. He missed the exhibition then, and withdrew from both Nationals and Europeans. Fans were worried we had prematurely witnessed his last performance already, at the GPF.”_

_“Deeply moving. Truly special._ He _is different out there today.”_

_“Indeed. He is showing what the Yuri Plisetsky we know would’ve considered too much. So perhaps it is a ‘goodbye’ from him. The kind of ‘goodbye’ where you know you’ll never see them again so you say things you wouldn’t say if they’d have the chance to confront you on it.” _

_“Wasn’t there an expression for this? A final gesture, performance?”_

_“A swan’s song.” _

_“Swan’s song, it is. Yuri Plisetsky’s swan song.”_

_***_

 

He’s always looked strong and steady on the ice - professional and presentable and a true Russian. And, yes, on ice, he’s mostly been truthful to himself. However, all of these years, while he’s been fighting against others, trying to bury his overwhelming brashness, he himself has ended up perhaps burying his authentic softness instead.

He bowed to the crowd, more humbly than he normally would, probably the lingering mushiness from such a tender-hearted routine. He himself lingered a bit longer than he usually would. But it wasn’t like anyone would dare say shit. They had to patronise him today, have some patience for the grandpa in this line of work. It wasn’t just any day for him. Whether they might hear of him around here again or he’d disappear forever, this was his last moment in the spotlight. In a short while, they’ll stop calling him the best. Even legends are scarcely remembered.

Finally, he approaches the exit, where Otabek accompanies Yuuri and Victor, bowing his head just in the right angle to wipe his eye as he took off his skate guards. “Hope Georgi was watching. He’d be proud of me -  probably be obnoxious and cry, too,” he says, taking advantage of the privilege of having Victor holding his guards for him for a last time.

“I’m sure he was watching and he’s crying a river to see this side of you.” Victor pulls him into a hug, too, against his will - well, kind of so.

“He’ll call you to gush about it, eventually, be sure of it,” Yuuri comments, handing him his Russian team jacket. He understands and is thankful for the gesture. It’s a last time for showing off his Russian pride, too.

“Ugh, he’s talking even more these days when he calls, repeating himself a lot and all that - he’s becoming such an old geezer!” Yuri snarks back, finally having the chance to turn to Otabek, too, just carelessly slipping into his arms with a sigh, the cameras on him be damned.

“Well done, Мой славный котёнок,” Otabek whispers into his shoulder. He saw Yuuri and Victor getting further away subtly, possibly minding their own business for once.

“I need to get back in there with everyone shortly,” he groans. “And they’ll probably have some goodbye stuff in mind and will want me to make up some speech, too.”

“Mhm, they threw all those bowls of flower petals at me when I retired.”

“Keep in mind Russians are more extra and want to outdo everyone. They did that dance for Victor-”

“They know you’re not Victor and that they ought to fear you,” Otabek lifts his head, smiling up at him.

***

Given the extravagant commemorations to follow, they clearly don’t fear him enough. Or perhaps the Russians take their own chance at a ‘goodbye they can’t get confronted for’.

That night, at the banquet, when he’s slipped away for a bit to get some air, Yuri makes up his mind and takes out his phone. He calls Yakov.

If he learnt anything, it’s there are things that can wait and others that shouldn’t.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The routines chosen were Yuzuru Hanyu’s FS and exhibition from last year’s Worlds. It turned out, in a later interview, that Hanyu was in fact injured during the FS and had tied his skate tightly to numb the pain (there I added a couple quads, bc hey it’s so many years later and I made one of them an Axel bc it’s Yuri Plisetsky). The feelings behind the EX afterwards were connected to that - he skated it thinking it might be his last time skating, which is heartbreaking, but also fit the nostalgic theme of the ending.
> 
> Мой славный котёнок = my sweet kitten


End file.
